


Decorate My Skin

by FormulaFerrari



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3172014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FormulaFerrari/pseuds/FormulaFerrari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The AU where the first words their soul mate says to them are written on their bodies...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decorate My Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bethonie (Formula_Tea)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Formula_Tea/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Wait A Second](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3123203) by [bethonie (Formula_Tea)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Formula_Tea/pseuds/bethonie). 



> I really like this AU idea, so I made more webbonso :L 
> 
> I have not edited or beta-ed this (yet) because, just like everything, it got longer and longer and longer. It was suppose to be 1000 words and now it's 5000. I probably will at some point but if you read it and find any massive mistakes just let me know : ) Hope you like it ^_^ [I'll update this message if I do beta this :P]
> 
> #ForzaJules  
> \- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

Work.

Train.

Work.

Train.

Work.

Train.

Almost like religious.

Work.

Train.

Work.

Train.

Work.

Train.

He chants it in time with his feet falling on the sodden ground.

Work.

Train.

Work.

Train.

Work…

It’s not a conscious decision to be thinking about it, he just doesn’t really know what else to think about. It’s all he does, all he thinks about doing. Unless someone forces him to stop, like his mum or something. But what’s the point of stopping? If you stop you can’t progress to grab that opportunity. You’ve got to jog to keep up with it, not wait on the start line and waste more energy dashing after it. His mum worries, and he knows that. But he can’t help it. Stopping just feels like giving up.

He knows what his mum really wants and he definitely doesn’t have the time for that.

He’s bored of it, all of these expectations. _You’ve got to find your soul mate. You’ve got to find your soul mate. You’ve got to find your soul mate._ Fuck. Off. He really doesn’t want to know. And now his mum is trying to set him up on blind dates? _She’s really nice, at least give her a chance._ No, he didn’t want to give anyone a chance. He was too busy. _Fine. Well you know the nice young lad from down the road? How about you go out with him?_ That was the last his dad had been allowed to say on the subject. And he wasn’t complaining about that.

He really didn’t want to think about that much.

No, if he was supposed to find his soul mate then he would. They would jog up beside him on this route to success he was steaming down. He couldn’t take his eye off the ball, not now. Too much was at risk. He just needed it back on his side of the court. Then he could score the match point.

He turned into the park, per usual, and paused by the big oak tree. His friends asked him if he ever got bored of the routine. Never did he step off the routine. No, some people were just made to live by schedules and he was one of those people. He couldn’t think of what he would do with himself if he didn’t go for him morning cycle or his afternoon run.

Today he decided to leave his headphones in. There was too much of it and he knew if he gave these people a chance they would rush over, bubbling with joy. Unfortunately it was only a small village so he knew them too. He would have to do that terrible fake “I’m happy for you but really I’m not” thing and he really hated that. Pulling the water bottle from his hip he took a long swing, diverting his eyes from the two dog walkers as they excitedly rolled back their sleeves. Obviously having felt the rush tingle of heat gather on their forearms.

Too many expectations. He couldn’t be dealing with it.

Work. Train. Work. Train. Work-

“-Mark?” He rolls his eyes as he turns, still sipping from his water. He lets a half real smile linger on his lips as he pulls a headphone out.

“Mitch.”

“Fancy seeing you here.” He smiles happily, pulling Mark into a hug. Mark accepts a touch awkwardly. “What are you doing down here?”

“I…” Mark frowns at that. He always comes here. Right to this spot. Every day. _Ask anyone_. He wants to say but he doesn’t. “Just jogging.”

“Ah, I see.” Mitch beams, nodding at Mark’s bright trainers. “Haven’t changed much then. Still work work work, train train train?”

“Something like that.” Mark mutters, moving to put the pod back in his ear. Mitch grabs his arm.

“One day you’ll tell us all what you’re training for.” Mark knows exactly what Mitch is doing. He’s just not sure yet.

“There is nothing there, mate.” Mark shrugs, pulling his bare arm back from the Kiwi. Mitch’s smile drops a touch.

“Shame…”

“Why?” Mark almost laughs. Why would Mitch want to be stuck with him?

“Well…” It doesn’t take much for Mitch’s grin to be back on his face. He pushes his sleeve back, showing Mark the words printed so clearly against his skin.

_It’s alright, I’ve got you._

Mark can’t help but trace the words.

“Did it hurt?” The question is out of his mouth before he has a chance to stop it and he’s already mentally chastening himself as he lets go of Mitch. He didn’t care, why did he even ask?

“Not at all. I only noticed it a couple of days ago.” Mitch shrugs, running his fingers over the three words again.

“You don’t know who said it?”

“Well yeah, but not to find…” Mitch sighs, rolling his sleeve back down. “So I’d thought I’d check if it was you.”

“Nope.” Mark shrugs, moving to make his way round the end of his route. But Mitch grabs him again.

“Are you even looking?”

“I’m busy.”

“Mark-”

“-Good luck finding her. She’s lucky.” Mark calls, starting to move off.

“Don’t worry, mate. I’ll find him.” Mitch smiles lightly, running his fingers back over those three words, even though now they’re covered.

“Righto.” Mark nods, pushing the pod back in his ear. “See you around.”

“You’ll find them too, Mark!” Mitch calls but he’s unsure whether Mark heard him. Mark picks up that gentle pace again, unable to stop the words aiding each step. Work. Train. Work. Train. He tries, for once thinking about something else but all he can think about is Mitch and his stupid words. Fantastic. Someone else for his mum to tell him in her next rant. That should make everyone he knows now…

He stops again. He can’t take everything suddenly rushing around in his head.

He tears his headphones out, resting his hand on the nearest tree and just breathing. Work. Train. Work. Train. Then there is no one to disappoint. He’s just getting on with his life and that’s fine by him. This is why he doesn’t let himself think. It’s all too much.

_Work. Train. Work. Train._

Exhaling deeply, he opens his eyes, ready to start heading home. But instead a frown crashes on his face. He opens his mouth to say something but the man in front of him frantically waves his arms. His eyes scared. Mark presses his lips together; raising an eyebrow at the man bundled in a coat, a thick scarf wrapped around his neck, obscuring everything but his eyes. And he can only just see those as his glasses are obscuring most of him. The man takes a deep breath, sliding the glasses back up his nose and clutching what looks like a tatty leather book tighter to his chest.

“You have the most beautiful eyes.” The man says, blushing slightly. Mark frowns at him, looking over his shoulder to check that it is actually him who is being spoken too. But there is no one behind him. The comment is meant for him. He turns back to the man, opening his mouth to ask something but he’s not there. The bundle of coat has disappeared.

Mark takes a deep breath. Now he’s hallucinating? He shakes his head, blaming Mitch for that as he pounds back down the road, heading for home.

Work.

Train.

Work.

Train.

\- - -

It’s only because it’s Leanne’s birthday that he’s come over otherwise he would be avoiding his mum like the plague. Oh yes, Mitch’s news travelled extremely fast. Mark had got a phone call about ten minutes after he walked in the house from his jog. Of course it was his mum. Mark had left the phone in the kitchen and gone in the other room to carry on with his work. He didn’t want to hear it and she knew it. He just wishes she would give up now.

“It’s so nice of the four of us to have been able to do this. Thank you Leanne, darling.” Diane beams as she piles up the plates. Mark rolls his eyes as he scratches the inside of his arm. He knows what’s about to happen. They all do. He can almost feel the sympathetic look Leanne is sending him across the table but it’s no use. She’ll still say it anyway.

“Well, we haven’t all been together for so long.” Leanne smiles, trying to deter the topic. Diane walks back in drying her hands on her apron.

“Next time you should bring Andrew along.” Diane fusses, placing a happy hand on Leanne’s shoulder. Mark just glares at the table, scratching his arm subconsciously.

“Yeah… Maybe.” Leanne shrugs, looking to her dad to change the subject. But he’s frowning at Mark. Leanne shakes her head. _Don’t say it dad, don’t-_

“-You alright there, son?” Alan asks, sitting forwards. Mark’s head snaps to him, not even trying to hide his glare. Diane looks between the two of them, waiting for that moment where she can just step in and tell Mark what she has wanted to say for the past three hours.

“Fine. Dad. Thanks.” Mark bites harshly. Alan openly rolls his eyes at him.

“No, you’ve been scratching your arm for the past ten minutes.” He points. Mark looks down at his arm, covered by the cardigan he had chosen to wear. It did itch. He shook his head, resting both hands on the table.

“I’m fine.”

“Your arm itches?” Diane asks, concerned. “Let me see.”

“I’m fine, Mum.” Mark glares, dragging his arms back off the table. Diane looks a little taken aback by him. “Just… New washing powder or something…” He frowns down at his arm. “Or a new jumper…”

“I brought you that ages ago.” Leanne points out casually. Mark turns his glare on her.

“Well then it’s washing powder. I’m fine.” Mark exhales hotly as Diane wanders back into the kitchen, fetching dessert.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Mark?” Alan asks, his voice full of worry.

“Nothing, Dad, alright.” Mark rests his hand moodily on his chin.

“Is it Mitch-?”

“-Dad.” Leanne scolds softly, shaking her head. Alan looks back over at his son, still worried. The moment is broken as Diane brings a tray of cupcakes through.

“It was so nice to hear about Mitch.” Diane smiles lightly, passing small plates around the table. Mark doesn’t even try to hide his glare from her as he takes his plate but she’s not looking at him. “And who’d have thought it would have been that Kvyat boy.”

“I did say it could be a man.” Alan shrugs, breaking the top off his cupcake and pushing it into his mouth. Diane settles in her chair, glancing at Mark who still hasn’t touched his cake.

“But not always.”

“Sometimes it is though.” Alan presses. Leanne shakes her head.

“You are scratching your arm again, Mark.” Diane states, holding her hand out. “Let me see.”

“It’s just the washing powder.” Mark glares at the table. But he can’t deny his arm really itches.

“I don’t believe that. Let me see.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Mark, listen to your mother. She’ll only worry.” Alan says, swallowing his mouthful.

“I’m fine! For fuck sake!”

“Mark Alan Webber-” Diane starts, but Mark is already on his feet.

“It’s nothing, see!” He snaps, ripping back the sleeve of his cardigan. But it isn’t ‘nothing’. Definitely isn’t ‘nothing’. Diane clutches her hands over her mouth as Leanne bends his arm round, frowning in shock. Mark is speechless. He doesn’t understand how this happened. But they’re there; there is no denying it. Once his sister and dad inspect his arm he falls back into his seat, just looking down at the once bare skin. He doesn’t understand. At least it doesn’t itch anymore.

_You have the most beautiful eyes._

The guy had known. Mark didn’t know how, but the man he had known had known. He had understood and he had specifically chosen the words he wanted pressed into his arm. Mark couldn’t help but feel heart warmed by the notion.

“So? Who is it!” Diane squeaks excitedly. “My little Mark finally found his soul mate! I knew you would! I just knew it!”

“Calm down, mum.” Leanne laughs, also slightly relieved, as Diane fusses over Mark, pulling him into a hug. “Do we know them?”

“He doesn’t even know himself.” Alan smirks, observing his son. He knows Mark didn’t know the words were there. He knows his son wouldn’t have hidden that. He’d have at least shown Diane just to keep her quiet.

“Don’t you?” Diane breathes, pressing a hand to her heart.

“No.” Mark shakes his head, still a little phased out of it. But he knows one thing for sure: he’s going to find him and he’s going to return the gesture. “I have an idea… He said it to me yesterday…” Mark lets his fingers trace the words, a small smile he isn’t aware of creeping onto his face. His family are just happy to see him happy and calm. It nice to see him relaxed; it’s been such a long time.

“He?” Diane asks gently, still hugging Mark.

“Yeah…” Mark nods. Right now he doesn’t care. His soul mate is out there and he knows he’s his soul mate. Mark suddenly has a burning determination to go and find him.

\- - -

It’s been weeks. Weeks since he found the words on his arm. Weeks since he saw his soul mate. Maybe Mark really did imagine him. _No._ He reminds himself for the hundredth time. _If I had imagined him then there would be no words to prove he existed._ In some respects Mark is glad it has taken so long. It’s given him time to adjust, to realise that he is destined to end up with a man. Not that it bothers him. IN some respects it’s worked out for the best. But Mark has never tried to be with a man before. He’s a little worried about how it would exactly happen.

But it’s been weeks since Mark has even seen the man with the glasses and the bundle of coats wrapped around him. It’s been weeks and weeks of the same thing, running to the park and waiting by that tree. Desperately waiting for the man to appear so he could say something back to him, let him know he was right. But he doesn’t even know the guy’s name. He doesn’t even know where to start looking. That’s the most infuriating thing.

It’s horrible, he feels like he can’t move on with his life until he’s found that guy. Mark looks down at his arm again. He’s keeping the words covered until he finds who he is looking for. He doesn’t want to talk about it, explain that his soul mate found him and then fucked off. It didn’t stop the phone calls though. His mum had been too excited to keep it in and suddenly it felt like the whole world knew. _Is it true Mark? Oh wonderful! What does it say? So who is the lucky person? What do you mean you don’t know?_ Sometimes Mark wishes he had been on his own when he found the words. At least then he could have waited until he found him again. Then he would be able to tell people all about his soul mate.

Mark thinks about that as he sits on the bench with his coffee during his lunch break (something completely unheard of – Mark leaving the office for lunch – but Mark spends most of his time in the park now, desperate to find his soul mate again). What is his soul mate like? One thing is for sure he can bet they are compatible. Everyone is compatible with his or her soul mate. That’s kind of the idea. And he knows the guy is shorter than him but that’s about it. So he has glasses, why? And that book, what was that? He can’t have been from around here if he was that affected by the weather either. Mark nods to himself, sipping on his coffee. So if he wasn’t from around here where was he from? Mark tries to remember his voice but it’s difficult. It was muffled and he’s only one hundred per cent certain of what he said to him because it’s printed on his arm. He runs a stressed hand through his hair. Isn’t it supposed to be easier than this?

Mark stands because he’s had enough of waiting now. He’s been sitting out here long enough and his lunch break is almost over. He needs to get back or someone is really going to start worrying about him. His colleagues have already asked too many times if he’s feeling Ok. But he doesn’t want to tell him about the words, no one else needs to know until he’s found who said them. He kind of understands how Mitch felt now, But Mitch must have had a clear idea who it was. It had only taken Mark four hours to get home, showered and ready to go to his parents and by time he got there Mitch had found the guy and called everyone with the good news. Mitch had to wait a couple of hours maybe.

Mark is still waiting.

He drops the now empty coffee cup in the bin, pushing his hands deeper into his pockets. His arm itched slightly as a horrible reminded the connection isn’t complete yet. Mark hates it. His soul mate could be out with some other person. He hates that idea. He hates the fact the man with the glasses doesn’t know, isn’t certain. Even though Mark has the feeling the guy had an inkling that they were soul mates it hasn’t been confirmed to him.

He’s not in the best of moods as he heads out of the park and back to the office. What does he think is going to happen? His soul mate is just going to sit next to him and strike up a friendly conversation? No. That won’t happen. Mark grits his teeth as he gets back in his car. This is why he had given up searching. He knew it would always lead to him getting more hurt in the long run. He decides he doesn’t care anymore (well he does but he’s going to pretend he doesn’t). He takes a deep breath, starting up the engine.

Work.

Train.

Work.

Train.

Work…

\- - - -

“Come in.” Mark calls, fingers typing rapidly on the keyboard. He doesn’t look up as the door opens, knowing it will be one of three people.

“You seem back to your old self again.” Simon says, looking at the sandwich sitting untouched in its packet on Mark’s desk. Mark just shrugs. “So what was wrong with you?”

“Just caught a bug. It’s gone now.” Mark mutters, still not pausing in typing or looking away from the computer.

“So back to all work and train and nothing in between?”

“That’s right, mate.” Mark nods, scratching at his arm. It’s been ages since the words were pressed into his skin. So long his mum has even stopped asking if he has found him yet. She knows Mark has stopped looking. Maybe he and his soul mate were just never meant to be…

“Right, well then Horner wants you to go through these,” Simon smiles lightly, dropping the files on Mark’s desk. Mark slides them towards him, lifting the cover and scanning over the outline. “Couple wanting to start a small business.”

“Button’s bakery?” Mark raises an eyebrow, his eyes taking in the names. “And this Rosberg is going to be his accountant?”

“They want a loan to get they going so they need a good business plan.”

“Let me guess, soul mates?”

“Met in a coffee shop. Starbucks I think.” Simon nods, watching Mark closely. Mark just closes the file.

“Great. Anything else?”

“Your meeting at three has been moved to twelve.”

“Twelve?” Mark exclaims, checking his watch. Twenty minutes. “Fuck.”

“We’ve only just found out.” Simon sympathises as Mark saves his work and begins piling together his things for the meeting.

“Why has it been moved?”

“Apparently he double booked himself and Britta told him your afternoon was free so we moved it.” Simon explains as he hands Mark the file. Mark grabs his notepad as he takes the file, glancing over the basics.

“This Alonso already sounds like a prick.” Mark grits as he moves from the room.

“Mark, you haven’t eaten yet-!”

“-I’ll eat once I’m done!” Mark calls back, already dashing towards the lift. He’s annoyed to not find it empty but he’s already running late now. “Seb.” He nods, pressing the button to the meeting rooms. Sebastian grins brightly at him as the door slide shut. _Great, he’s actually going to talk to me._

“Guess what.” Sebastian beams. Mark stares pointedly at the doors.

“What.”

“You know Kimi from finance downstairs?”

“Moody Finn who doesn’t say anything?” Mark raises and eyebrow in question. Sebastian nods with a small blush.

And then he rolls up his sleeve.

“He does say things…” Sebastian says sheepishly. Mark looks down at his arm, reading _You talk too much._

“Great.” Mark says, trying to keep his own pessimistic mood out of his voice. It’s good for Sebastian and Mark knows it. He scratches his arm subtly as Sebastian looks back down at the words.

“Do you want to know what is on his arm?” Sebastian gushes.

 _Not really_. “Sure.”

“It says ‘you kissed me.’” It’s obviously an embarrassing memory because Sebastian is blushing painfully. Mark wants to wince at the love struck expression but that wouldn’t be fair to Sebastian. It’s not the German’s fault that his soul mate disappeared off the face of the earth. The lift stops on his floor.

“That’s sweet. Really great news, Seb.” Mark forces himself to smile before dashing out of the lift so Sebastian can’t start asking questions about him. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Not at all.

He moves into the meeting room, putting his things on the table and checking his watch. Ten to twelve. He’s got ten minutes to read this file. It’s never going to happen. Mark sighs, sitting down in his seat and opening the box. Maybe this stuff could help. As long as he has some preconception as to what type of business they’re about to talk about it should be fine. Mark takes a deep breath, placing the file on his notepad and pulling out the things from inside the box.

A lot of it is more notes, obviously Alonso’s personal notes or ambitions on the business. He’ll read those during the meeting or get the man to tell him about it himself. That way he can tell how passionate this guy is about this proposal; work out how much time he should actually give up for a man who moves his appointments forwards three hours. Moving the paper out the way Mark finds himself suddenly frowning. He picks up the leather bound book, turning it over in his hands. Does he recognise it? Or is he just being stupid. He’s never met Alonso in his life, right?

Curiosity gets the better of him and he opens the book where the little ribbon is lying. He’s not ready to find drawings all over the page. Especially not drawings of himself. He frowns down at the book, flicking a couple of pages back but there are just more: quick sketches, sketches that look like they have been weeks in the making, pen drawings, pencil, charcoal, pastels, paints, watercolours. It’s not the whole book, the drawings stop and Mark finds a few pages of text instead. Passing these he just finds other drawings, a leaf, a squirrel, a bench, a couple, and arm inscribed with words that catch in Mark’s throat. He’s not sure what he’s got in his hands anymore. Is this a journal? Containing dreams and wishes as well as observations? He wants to read the entry before the pages filled with him but he can’t; it’s not in English.

“Mark?” Mark’s head snaps up as he closes the book. He’s on his feet for no apparent reason. His head is racing and he thinks he understands but he’s suddenly not sure. His arm itches again and he knows he has to take the risk. Wasn’t his soul mate holding a book when he spoke to him? He’s not one hundred per cent sure but it’s worth the risk. “You alright?” Britta asks, frowning a little. Mark clears his throat.

“Yes, sorry… Is my twelve o’clock here?”

“Yeah, should I send him up?” Britta asks calmly, her eyes raking the mess on the table. “Or do you need a moment?”

“No, send him up… I’m ready.” Mark smiles lightly. She nods before disappearing and Mark forces himself to stay on his feet. For some reason he finds it soothing to place his hand on Alonso’s book. The smooth leather feeling like it’s relaxing him as he stares at the door. He moves a little further around the table dragging the book with him as he sees Britta reappear, holding her arms out for the man’s coat. Mark cranes his neck. If he can just get a glance… But he doesn’t really know what the guy looks like. It wouldn’t matter if he could see him because he doesn’t know what his soul mate looks like. _He wears glasses._ That’s all Mark can think as he sees Britta point towards him, disappearing with a coat and a scarf. _This is it._ Mark swallows, trying to keep his breathing calm.

“Am sorry about this, just things come up and my agent does not say. Will be much better once am out of there… Am grateful of you still deciding to see me though-” The guy abruptly stops talking as his eyes fall on the book under Mark’s hand. He seems relieved but then worried. “Where do you get this?” The guy asks. Mark can’t find any words, his mouth is dry and he can’t come up with anything to say. The guy pushes his glasses up his nose, still frowning in confusion and annoyance. “Well?” Mark blinks, dropping his head and gesturing back to the box he’s got spilled out on the table. The guy nods, looking a little relieved. “Thought had lost…” The guy tries to take the book from under Mark’s hand but Mark doesn’t let him. He needs to say something because then he will know. The client frowns up at him, realisation suddenly filtering into his eyes. It’s instinctual when Mark cups his cheek, rubbing his thumb across the bone. The guy looks confused and scared, his eyes switching between Mark and the book still being held on the table. Mark tilts his head up, making sure the guy is looking at him. Mark smiles softly, falling in love with his coffee eyes. So wide and curious.

“I love…” Mark’s mind draws a blank. There is so much to comment on. But he wants this to be done properly. Give back what he was given. He’s panicking, trying to find some way to end the sentence. He needs to think of something fast because he doesn’t want those two words stuck on him for the rest of his life; they sound uncertain. Mark finds his other hand with his free one, linking their fingers. “You.” Mark breathes, not able to come up with anything better than the general claim. So unspecific and vague. He wants to kick himself but it’s no use. It’s done now. Alonso is moving away anyway. Mark drops his head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” His apology is stopped as Alonso pushes back his sleeve, turning his arm over to look down at the inside of his arm. Mark doesn’t understand the tears rushing down his face and reaches forwards to dry them away. But the guy just shoves his own sleeve to his elbow, staring down at his arm.

Mark’s heart sinks when it’s found bare.

“I’m sorry… That’s was unprofessional, I shouldn’t have… I thought you were someone else.” Mark mutters, feeling his own tears rush to the surface. He was wrong. What a stupid risk. And now he looks a fool. “I am sorry Mr Alonso… Let’s talk about-”

“-Wait!” the guy exclaims, bouncing up and down. Mark frowns up at him, not sure about what is happening. But Alonso has both sleeves rolled up to his elbows and before Mark knows it he’s throw his hands around his neck, kissing him desperately. Mark holds, him stable, unable to stop them falling into the table at the force Alonso throws himself at him. Alonso offers his right arm to Mark, still smiling with tears running over his face. Mark looks down at him, running his fingers over the words that obviously weren’t there a few minutes ago.

_I love you._

Mark can barely breathe, let alone stop the smile from crashing on his face. He collects the book off the table, flicking to the page with the drawing of the arm on it. The gasp from beside him spun his head around.

“You… You do this for me…” Alonso says, looking up at Mark with a love-filled expression. Mark wraps an arm around his waist.

“It wasn’t a conscious decision…” Mark admits. The man in his arms is holding onto his every word. “I wanted to say something like you did…” Mark indicates to his left arm. “I couldn’t think…”

“Is perfect.” The man sighs, snuggling into Mark contently.

“Well, it’s something.” Mark laughs lightly.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve told you I love you and I don’t even know your name.” The guy blushes, sitting up and holding out his hand.

“Fernando.”

“Fernando….” Mark tries the name out on his tongue. It feels nice. He smiles at Fernando. “Mark.”

“Fernando and Mark…” Fernando airs as they shake hands. Mark nods.

“Sounds perfect to me, mate.”

“Perfect.” Fernando agrees.


End file.
